The Greatness of a Heart
by childofchild
Summary: There has been a considerable amount of changes on chapter 5, so if you've already read it you might want to reread it. Sorry for the inconvenience. R/R
1. To Spread Thy Wings

Valued Gateway Client Normal Valued Gateway Client 1 5 2001-11-13T00:21:00Z 2001-11-13T00:26:00Z 2 1493 8514 70 17 10455 9.3821 

                DISCLAIMER:      Middle-earth is Tolkien's.  I do not claim any of his work for my own.

                This tale takes place in 1442 Shire-Reckoning, twenty-one some odd years after Frodo Baggins departs from Middle-earth at the end of the Third Age.  This story focuses mainly on Frodo's namesake, Frodo Gamgee--Samwise's oldest son--and the challenges awaiting him.

                Note:      Sam and Rose have thirteen children and at the time this tale takes place, here--roughly--are their ages:  Elanor is 22, Frodo is 20, Rose is 18, Merry is 16, Pippin is 14, Goldilocks is 12, Hamfast is 11, Daisy is 10, Primrose is 8, Bilbo is 7, Ruby is 5, Robin is 3, and Tolman (Tom) is several months.  You have to remember that hobbit and human development differ considerably.  

TO SPREAD THY WINGS

                "I still don't understand, Da," Frodo Gamgee trailed his father, the cutting shears tucked beneath his arm.  "If Elanor gets to go, why can't I?"

                Samwise sighed in exasperation.  "Frodo my lad, we've been over this.  Lord Aragorn and Lady Arwen have invited us to stay with them for a while."

                "But for a year!" Frodo's arms flew wide and the shears fell to the lawn.  Samwise scooped them up and passed them back to his son.

                "Careful with those, Frodo," Sam patted their sharp blades as if he were shaking hands with a long forgotten friend.

                Frodo grasped the shears and shook his head.  "You didn't answer my question.  Why can't I go?"

                "Who would look after Bag End and watch over your brothers and sisters?  Answer me that!"  Sam turned hurriedly and made his way to their little hobbit-hole door, thinking he had won but not waiting to find out.

                His son, however, was far from finished.  "Little Merry's old enough and he'll have Rose besides."  Frodo ran over to his father and grasped the old hobbit by the arm.  "Come on, Da!  Let me come."  He held his father's gaze intently, until Sam was forced to turn away.

                "Sorry, my lad, but its just me and your Ma and Elanor this time.  Ah, and Little Tom of course!"  Sam patted his son on the shoulder.  "Perhaps next time, son.  Your mother, er, you know how she gets."

                "Samwise Gamgee!"  Sam cringed and both father and son turned to the window (the very one that so many years before, Gandalf the Grey had yanked a very startled and very flustered hobbit through).  Rose stood framed in the round opening.  "Don't you go blaming me for things that a mother of thirteen can't help."

                "Yes, love," Sam called weakly and smiled sheepishly.

                Rose looked at her son.  "Go wash for supper, Frodo."

                Frodo looked from his Ma to his Da, his eyes smoldering with suppressed anger.  He bit back the heated words he longed to let out.  Mumbling something for which his mother took for affirmation, Frodo turned and stomped off in the direction of the well.

                "I sent Elanor for some water," Rose called after him.  "If you see her, tell her to clean up too."

                Rose was about to say more but thought better of it when she saw her son stiffen considerably at the mention of his older sister.  She turned to Sam, "He was pestering you again, wasn't he?"

                "Ah, love," Sam walked up to the window and took his wife's hand in his own.  "He wants to go so badly."  He turned to where his son had gone.  "The Shire is becoming too cramped for him.  He yearns for adventure."

                Rose shook her head and scowled.  "He's a hobbit.  And just a boy at that."

                "Master Frodo was a hobbit," Sam said quietly and his gaze lost their focus.  His eyes became glazed and his wife looked down at him to hear the soft and almost sad tone in his voice.

                "Master Frodo was also the Ring-bearer."  Rose ran her fingers through her husband's curly hair.

                Sam blinked and the haze left his eyes.  He looked up at Rose.  "Aye, the Ring-bearer," he spoke softly and closed his eyes.  "Oh, how I miss him, my love.  How I miss him."

                Rose leaned out the window and kissed Sam upon the brow.

                "Our Frodo is a child, Sam.  I will not loose him."

                Sam looked at Rose and returned her kiss.  "Yes," he sighed.  "He will stay."

                "It's time to sup, Elanor," Frodo growled darkly, passing by his sister.  "Ma wants you to wash."

                Elanor set her bucket of water upon the ground and joined her brother at the well.  He released the crank and the well's bucket fell freely into its dark depths.  When he heard the splash at the bottom and was sure it had sunk, he began to turn the crank.

                Elanor watched her brother from beneath lowered lashes, curious, but not wholly surprised by his dark mood.  "You asked again," she said after a moment, pointedly making it a statement and not a question.

                Frodo didn't reply.

                She sighed.  "Why do you bother, brother?  You know Ma will never let you.  Besides, Merry isn't old enough to take on the responsibility of Bag End.  And Father wouldn't put it into the hands of Little Rose while we were away.  She's can be so daft sometimes."  She shook her head but it was obvious her tone held fondness.

                Frodo heaved the bucket out of the well, and growled low in his throat, "Don't call Rose daft, Elanor."

                Elanor brushed her golden locks from her face and dipped her small hands into the cold water.  "Oh, Frodo, I didn't mean anything by it."

                Frodo cupped his hands and scooped up the water to splash it into his face.  He rubbed the garden's soil from his cheeks and chin, then wiped his sleeve across his mouth.

                "Anyway," Elanor said, rubbing her hands together.  "You mustn't keep pestering Ma and Da.  You know you have to stay."

                "I know nothing of the sort!" Frodo retorted, glaring at his sister and swiping the rest of the water from his face.  "I am sick of this place!  Sick of these people!  All these silly little hobbits that won't even dare the step to leave their little porches and see the world.  Who are content with watching the world pass by their front window.  Well, not me!  I _refuse_ to stay here my whole life and the sooner I escape the better!"

                "Escape?" Elanor laughed.  "You talk as if the Shire were a prison."

                "And who's to say it's not?" demanded Frodo.

                Elanor smiled and shook her head, disbelief in her eyes and upon her face.  "Frodo, the Shire is the grandest place in all of Middle-earth!"  She spun and her blue dress billowed.  "No where is more splendid!"

                "Says who?" he challenged.

                Elanor frowned, becoming irritated with her brother's refusal to accept what was.  "Why, everybody," she stated simply.

                "Everybody as in 'hobbits-everybody'?" he asked.

                "Yes."

                Frodo jabbed a finger at his sister and she scowled darkly, placing delicate hands upon delicate hips.  "Well that's where you're wrong!  Hobbits aren't everybody but a very few of everybody.  What about all the humans and elves and dwarves and orcs?" Elanor shuddered.  "What about all of them?" he wanted to know.

                Elanor huffed, "I wasn't counting them, Frodo."  She scowled, "And don't point!" she slapped her brother's hand away.

                Frodo snatched his hand back and glared at his sister.  "Well you should have," he said.  "They make up more of Middle-earth's population than we do.  And you don't see any of them hanging around here, do you?"

                "That's because we have more sense then they do," Elanor replied angrily. 

                Frodo snorted.  "Hobbit-sense.  That's one thing I am glad I was born without."

                Elanor sighed, "Oh, Frodo, you're being ridiculous."

                "And you're being a typical hobbit!" he shot back angrily.

                Elanor was about to retort hotly when Merry came running around the corner, laughing hysterically, with Rose close on his heals.

                "Merry Gamgee, you give that right back, you hear me!" Rose shrieked in rage.

                Merry just laughed and dived behind Frodo, something clutched in his right hand.  Rose jumped after him and the two zipped around their irritated brother.  Moments later, Pippin joined them.

                "I saw Rose kiss Hob!  I saw Rose kiss Hob!  I saw Rose kiss Hob!"  Pippin sung as he danced around Elanor and Frodo.

                "Merry, give it back!"

                "Frodo, Frodo, look!" huffed Merry, trying to show his brother what he held and at the same time trying desperately to stay out of his sister's claw-like grasp.  "Look what Hob gave Rose, Frodo!  Look!  Look!"  But the hobbit youth dashed about so much that Frodo didn't have a chance to see it, even had he been looking, which he had not.

                "I'm gonna tell Da, Merry, and you're going to get it!  Da!  Da!"  Rose hollered, still chasing the laughing Merry around Elanor and Frodo.

                 "Hob kissed Rose!" sung Pippin.

                "Da! Da!"

                "Look, Frodo, look!"

                "I'm gonna tell Da, Merry!  Give it back!"

                "Hob gave it to Rose!"

                Frodo watched the youths run about his feet, screaming and laughing and singing.  He watched as Elanor tried telling them to behave and he watched as they all completely ignored her.

                "STOP!" Frodo roared and the three came to a standstill.  They watched Frodo wide-eyed and open-mouthed, staring in disbelief.  Their older brother had always been there to laugh and wrestle with them, to tease and to toss them.  He'd always encouraged roughhousing and never got mad at their arguings, indeed he often chose sides.  "Just _stop_!"

                "Merry, give Rose back whatever you took," he ordered.

                "But--" the light-haired youth stammered in disbelief.

                "Now, Merry!"

                Merry dropped a small flowered hairpiece into his sister's hands.  Rose was too overcome at Frodo's tone to give Merry a triumphant smile.

                They all just stared at him.

                "Supper's ready, go eat," he jabbed at Bag End but the three didn't move and Frodo saw Pippin had tears in his eyes.  Frodo ignored him.  "Go!"  The three dashed off.

                There was a moment of silence as Frodo clenched his jaw.  He turned and shoved the bucket back into the well with a bit more effort than was required.

                "I don't think that was necessary," Elanor said finally, referring to their siblings.

                Frodo said nothing, but turned and walked from the well.

                "Where are you going?" Elanor called after him, for he was going in the opposite direction of Bag End.

                "Tell Ma I'm not hungry!"

                "But, Frodo . . ." she trailed off as Frodo disappeared into the small wood behind their home.  She watched him go and then shook her head.  "Da's going to be upset."

                Please give me any and all comments or suggestions on your mind.  Thanx!  

                I have the entire story in my head--most now on paper--and it is the challenge of finishing the writing that always stands in my way.  ::sigh::


	2. The Soul Knows No Bonds

THE SOUL KNOWS NO BONDS

                Sam Gamgee sat in his over-stuffed chair by the fire.  That dark red chair had been there since before Sam could remember.  He recalled when Bilbo had sat in it so many years before, telling wild tales of wizards and dragons.  He remembered his eagerness concerning elves and his desire to see one of those Fair Folk.  And he had seen them, too.  He had had one as a traveling companion and had met a beautiful Lady.  Sam remembered when he would garden out back and peep through the window to see Master Frodo sleeping in the chair's great depths.  The fire reflecting off such a carefree and youthful face.

                Samwise sighed.

                "Da!  Da!"

                Sam peeped over the arm of the chair to see his Robin scoot her way across the floor to the chair.

                She looked up and smiled at seeing her father's face, and laughed when Sam broke out into a smile.

                "Why hello there, my darling," he reached down and scooped her up.  "Isn't it your bedtime?" he raised his eyebrows at her suspiciously and she giggled and clapped her hands together.  Sam chuckled, "I thought so."  He kissed and hugged her.  "Where's your Ma?" he wondered aloud.

                "Right here."

                Rose came over and kissed him on the brow, little Tolman gurgling in her arms.

                "How's our Tom?" he asked, touching the child on the nose.  He squirmed and reached out with grasping hands.

                "Ma!  Ma!"  Robin held her arms out for her mother and laughing, Rose scooped her up.

                Sam smiled.  "Good night, my darlings," he kissed baby Tom and little Robin and Rose took them to lie down.

                "Bilbo, Ruby, come give your Da a kiss goodnight!" Rose called and disappeared down the hall.

                Laughing, two young boys dashed from the kitchen to their father's lap.  Well, one of them dashed, the other stumbled.  

                A young hobbit boy of about four or five by human standards (and more of seven or eight by hobbit) leapt into Sam's lap.

                "Whoa there, Bilbo my lad!" Sam laughed and caught his son before he could do any damage to his lower half.

                "Night, Da!" Bilbo hugged his father.

                "My Da, my Da!" cried the other boy, younger by a couple of years.  He ran wobbly across the floor and came to his father's chair.  "My Da!"

                Bilbo glanced down at his brother.  "He's my Da, too, Ruby," he said very seriously, crawling from Sam's lap and helping Ruby clamber up.

                "That's right!"  Sam lifted Ruby high and the hobbit child giggled.  "We have to share."

                Bilbo nodded his head and watched in wonder as his father tossed his brother into the air and caught him again in his strong and reassuring grip.  Ruby shrieked and laughed in delight.

                "Sam!" Rose called from one of the bedrooms and Samwise cringed.  "You're not tossing them in the air again are you?"

                "No, love," Sam hurriedly lowered Ruby and winked at his two boys.

                "If you drop them and hurt them . . ." Rose warned.

                "I know, love," he said with a smile and handed Ruby, with a kiss to the brow, back down to Bilbo.  Bilbo took his brother's hand and they both raced off for the bedrooms.

                Sam smiled as they went.  "Where are the other's, love?" he called.

                "Cleaning the kitchen.  They'll come when they've finished."

                Sam sat back in his chair and closed his eyes.  After a few moments he reopened them and lit his pipe.  Puffing out smoke-rings, he leaned back and watched them dreamily.  Master Frodo had been quite good at smoke-rings and Gandalf had been exceptionally better, taking pride in the misty circlets.  Sam fancied that someday the three of them would sit together and smoke, seeing who created the best.

                "Da?"

                Sam glanced over and smiled at his daughter.  "You've finished, Goldilocks?" he asked and she nodded, her head of golden curls bobbing prettily.

                "Can we have a story, Da?" she asked.

                Sam nodded, "Aye, I suppose.  Go fetch you're brothers and sisters."

                Goldilocks smiled and made ready to dash off, but suddenly stopped and turned.

                "What is it, my dearest?" Sam asked, concerned.

                She seemed hesitant at first but finally said, "Frodo's not back yet, Da."

                Sam sighed and nodded sadly.  "I know.  Go bring your other siblings then."

                She raced off.  Moments later, the rest of his children--excluding Frodo--hurried in.  Primrose and Daisy settled in Sam's lap and Goldilocks sat upon the floor at his feet.  Hamfast raced for his mother's chair but got beaten to it by a dog-pile of Pippin and Merry.  All three boys got booted, however, as Elanor swatted them away and took the seat for herself.  She let Hamfast settle beside her and the young boy smiled smugly at his older brothers as they seated themselves in front of the fire, Merry pocking at the flames with the tongs.  Rose seated herself at her sister's feet, fingering something in her hand.

                And so Sam told them a story, one that they had all heard before but nevertheless wanted to hear again.  He told them of his journey through the Mines of Moria and the supposed destruction of Gandalf the Grey.  They gasped when Sam told of the lake monster seizing Frodo and they cheered when he told them (and not without a little bit of pride) how he raced to his master's aid.  They laughed at Sam's remembrance of Pippin getting chided for tossing a rock down a well and how the poor hobbit got punished by Gandalf to take first watch.  They looked on with wide-eyes as Frodo got skewered on a spear and 'ooh'ed and 'aw'ed as Sam told them about Frodo's mithril-coat, given to him by Bilbo Baggins.  He told all, though of course cutting out gory or exceptionally scary parts.  Rose wandered in halfway through the telling and seated herself on the arm of Sam's chair, stroking his curls and looking upon him with great love and admiration.  Sam went on exceptionally long that night, for reasons that had to do with his missing son.  But, by and by, he finally came to an end, always finishing on a light note, seeing how otherwise it would leave a depressing story.

                "But Gandalf was not dead, unbeknownst to me and Master Frodo.  He lived and would live for a very long time.  And it's a good thing too, for he played a major part in the Battle of the One Ring.  But that, my dear children, is a another tale for a another night."

                Sam looked around.  Both Primrose and Daisy were fast asleep in his lap and Goldilocks slept soundly on the floor.  Hamfast snored softly in Elanor's arms and she smiled softly at her father.  Rose lay upon the floor, her hand tightly holding some unseen object.  Merry slept beside her, breathing deeply and heavily.  Sam looked over at Pippin and smiled at his son.

                "That was a good story, Da," Pippin murmured sleepily.  His lids drooped heavily over his eyes but he forced them to stay open.  "Can I here another?  I'm not tired at all.  Honest."

                Sam chuckled and handed Primrose to Rose and took Daisy in his own arms.  Getting to his feet without arousing Goldilocks, he turned to his son and ruffled his curls.  "Not tonight, Pippin my lad.  It seems I've over-taxed my audience anyhow.  Time for bed."  Sam reached down and helped the sleepy youth to his feet.

                "Not me, Da," Pippin protested, rubbing his eyes and yawning mightily.  "I'm not sleepy at all."

                Sam carried Daisy and led Pippin to their rooms, kissed them goodnight and wished them sweet dreams.  Elanor passed her father in the hall as she carried Hamfast to bed.

                "Frodo's back, Da," she whispered, then disappeared into the boy's room.

                Sam entered the living area to find Frodo bent over Merry.  He lifted hobbit youth with little difficulty.

                "You can wake him," Sam offered softly and Frodo started.

                He glanced at his father and then looked away.  "It's alright, I've got him," he said quietly and made his way to the youth's room.

                Sam woke Rose and Goldilocks and took them to their room.  His back wasn't as it used to be and though he had no doubt Frodo would have readily carried both, and been able to, Sam wanted to talk with his boy.  As he tucked them in and they kissed him upon the nose, he wished them a good night and shut their door.

                "Goodnight, Da," Elanor said quietly, once her father was back in the living area.  She kissed him on the brow, hugged her mother, and wished her brother a goodnight.

                "Sweet dreams, Elanor," Frodo called softly and his sister left the room, giving him a "keep your chin up, bucco" smile.  Frodo nodded and Elanor disappeared within the hallway's shadows.

                Frodo turned to his parents, eyes downcast.  Sam looked at his son for a moment and then turned to the fire, his back to Frodo.  He rubbed his hands together and held them out to the flames, hoping the evening's chill would wear away.  Rose watched both husband and son but said nought to either.

                After several moments of silence, Sam spoke, "I know you want to go, Frodo.  Your sister told us all that you said and I understand your reasoning.  Master Frodo was much the same way," he added softly, but Frodo caught it nonetheless.  "But, for now, I need you here.  I need you to stay and watch your siblings and watch after Bag End.  While I'm away, it is your responsibility and I trust you to it."  He turned and faced his son.  

                "You are still young, Frodo my lad, and your mother whole-heartily agrees."  Sam expected protest but was surprised to find none.  Frodo's eyes remained downcast.  "Perhaps in several more years you may leave the Shire, but for now you are needed.  You are not even a _tween_ as Pippin had been when he left the Shire.  Merry and Frodo and myself were much older.  

                "A couple more years?"  He watched Frodo and slowly Frodo nodded.  Sam smiled.  "Now there's a good lad."  He was making ready to dismiss the unruly whippersnapper when he caught Rose's look.

                "Uh, er," Frodo looked up at his father and then to his mother as his Samwise didn't seem to know what else to say.

                Finally, Rose took it upon herself.  "Where'd you run off to this afternoon?" she asked sternly.

                Frodo avoided her gaze and mumbled something incoherent.

                "What was that," she wanted to know.

                "Bywater Pool, Ma," he said quietly.

                "The river!?" Rose cried and then gulped and lowered her voice, though the anger in her eyes was no less intense.  "Frodo Gamgee, I've told you all a thousand times-"

                "Yes, Ma, I know," Frodo interrupted, which both he and Sam knew was a very dangerous thing to do.  But Frodo plunged on anyway.  "I'm sorry, Ma, I know I did wrong.  I was angry and upset and though I know that's no excuse I couldn't stay here in Hobbiton, I just couldn't.  I'm sorry, Ma, I really am."

                Rose looked at her son long and hard, then sighed and shook her finger at him.  "No more running off like that," she warned.  "You tell me where you go so I don't worry and fret needlessly, you hear me?"                Frodo nodded.  "I understand."

                Rose looked at her husband and Sam shrugged.  "Alright, then, get to bed."

                Frodo stepped forward and kissed his mother on the cheek.  "Night, Ma.  Night, Da."

                "Goodnight, dear," Rose said.

                "Night, son," Sam said.

                Frodo turned and made his way to his shared room with Merry, Pippin, Hamfast, Bilbo and Ruby.  He went quietly in, moving from Bilbo and Ruby's bunk to Pippin and Hamfast's bunk and finally to Merry and his own.  He sat down upon his bed and ran his fingers through his curly hair.  For long moments he did not move, as though some decision tormented him and he could not escape its maw.

                "Frodo?" he heard a hesitant voice from above and glanced up.  Merry peered down at him.  Frodo stood and looked at his brother.

                "What is it, Merry?" he asked quietly.  "You should be asleep."

                "Listen, Frodo, I'm sorry about today," Merry sat up in bed and looked down at his brother.  "I was just goofing with Rose and I meant nothing by it," the hobbit youth replied softly, looking truly miserable.  Frodo realized suddenly that this had been one of the very few times he had ever yelled at his brother.  

                Frodo suddenly felt sick.  He flopped back on his bed and closed his eyes.  He swallowed a bit of bile in his throat and shuddered as it slid down his insides.

                "Frodo," Merry whispered fearfully, peering over the bunk and watching his older brother from an upside-down position.  "Are you mad at me?"

                Frodo remained silent for a while, then, "I'm tired, Merry," he rasped.

                Merry's eyes widened at this refusal of reassurance.  A whimper escaped him, but he clamped his lips shut tight.  He pulled back up, his face disappearing in the shadows.

                Frodo sighed deeply and closed his eyes and then reopened them.  A glazed look spread over his dark, dark eyes and it seemed as though he saw straight through the bunk above him and, indeed saw nothing in his room at all, but sought something else.   A disturbing memory perhaps . . . .

                As Bag End became obscured behind him, Frodo realized that he had no intention of returning any time soon.  His sister's weak protests meant little to him, especially in the state he was in.  Let their father be angry, who cared?  Certainly not Frodo.  His own anger clouded all other judgment and he soon found he was running.  A path lay before his unshod feet and he followed it, uncaring of where it would lead him.

                He cared even less that he was making quite a spectacle, running as he was.  Hobbits are not well known for their athletic abilities; indeed, they have none whatsoever.  True, Frodo was young and the young did tend to be a bit more headstrong than their elders, but he was also a well-respected son of Sam Gamgee, Mayor of Hobbiton.  And, well, no respected hobbit would _ever _be caught dead running.  Indeed, running would probably be the cause of their death.

                Many a hobbits would tsk and shake their heads and say, "Why, I'm sure Sauron himself wouldn't make me run so."

                Needless to say, Frodo found many eyes upon him.  But he ignored them all and continued running.  He was well out of Hobbiton before he stopped.  His breath came out in great gasps and his stomach made him curl up in painful cramps.  But the pain helped cool his anger and, after a brief rest, he continued on at a brisk walk, his eyes looking outward, away from all the silly, little hobbits going about their everyday business.

                Frodo reached a wooded area and slipped into its shadows until again he came out into the sun and found the Water laid out before him.  He followed its sparkling surface for what seemed an eternity.  He knew he had gone far and the sun was beginning to set behind the treetops, but anger and defiance still burned in his breast and his feet continued ever on.

                Twilight was taking a strong foothold by the time the hobbit stopped his wanders and rested upon the shores of the bank.  He laid upon his stomach with his face facing outward to the Water's and the land beyond, his chin resting in the palm of his hands with his elbows placed comfortably on the shore's long grass.  As the sun sank out of sight a strong desire latched itself upon his heart.  A desire to see the land's beyond his own little humble home.  To see elves and dwarves and other such queer people of the Outside.

                A sudden rustling in the bushes from behind caused Frodo to turn.  At first he saw nothing, for the shadows were deepening and darkness was overwhelming his sharp hobbit-sight.  He sat up and listened, straining his ears so that he might hear or discern the noise again, but after several moments of no result he shrugged his shoulders and stood, brushing the dirt from his stomach and legs.

                He reentered the wood, knowing he had to eventually return to the stifling Bag End, and made his way back to the small path that would eventually take him there.  His step was much slower than it had been before and he realized he had no desire to return home.  It was an odd emotion and quite alien to one of his race, for all hobbits believe that there is no greater place than the warm blaze of their own fire in their own home.  But Frodo was quite pleased with himself, for that defiant thought in his head at least, and he let his feet drag as much as they pleased.

                The hobbit hadn't gone far; indeed he wasn't even to the small dirt path but still in the wood, when he again heard a noise that caused his ears to prick.  He wasn't quite certain what it was or what it sounded like but he was pretty sure it wasn't a wild animal. The Shire held many a creature within her border but not as found in the Outside.  Such creatures as wolves and other threatening beasts found in the Lands of Gondor and even Mordor were guarded against in the Shire, as the Rangers still protected the hobbits' land.  No, Frodo had no concern in beasts, but it was curious business, indeed, for the noises he heard were not those of birds or squirrels--creatures found in everyday Shire life--but of something else . . . something larger.

                Frodo stopped and held his breath, his ears strained for any and all noises.  He heard it faintly, far off in the distance.  It sounded almost like . . . almost like talking.

                The adolescent hobbit shook his head of curly brown hair and screwed up his smooth, round face in concentration.  Yes, it _did _sound like people talking, but it made no sense.  It was nearly sunset and any and every hobbit would be indoors by this time.  Certainly no self-respecting hobbit would be out in the woods on the outskirts of a town.  That was mainly why Frodo was--because it was improper behavior for any hobbit.

                With sudden curiosity and determination, the spirited hobbit made his way through the wood toward the voices, in a path bringing him along parallel with the Water.  His steps were placed carefully and, so silently, and the further he went he found he could distinguish two separate voices in the gibberish of words.  And just a little ways further he found that, indeed, it was gibberish and not any language he had ever heard.

                He slowed and finally came to a stop as the voices were crisp and clear to his hobbitish ears, and yet he could still not understand their tongue.  Frodo suddenly shivered in dread, for their words were guttural and their voices slimy.  Pictures of pain and death and darkness blossomed in his conscious.

                What were these horrid-sounding creatures doing within his beautiful land?  He had no doubt that they were not hobbits, so surely they did not belong here.  They sounded of things evil, as though they belonged in some dark underground world.

                Frodo decided then he didn't really want to see who spoke, and in such a hurry that, had anyone seen him, (and had they not been a hobbit) would say he fled as would a coward (a hobbit would comment that he was a boy with good sense).  But no one did see and Frodo ran blindly away, not caring where he went--indeed, not even thinking of a 'where'--but just knowing that Evil held a conversation behind him.

                He ran far and fast, but neither was enough, for young Frodo slammed and rebounded from a form hidden within nighttime's shadows.  He lay sprawled across the ground, dazed, as mocking laughter filled the wood.  In fear, he looked up, his eyes wide and his body shaking, and Frodo Gamgee, son of Sam Gamgee of Bag End, for the first time in all his twenty years, looked up into the dark, twisted visage of an orc.

                Perhaps I will post the next chapter--say, if I can get twenty reviews (that's not too much to ask, is it?)  Anyway, let's see if it's possible—hey, you must challenge yourself once in awhile . . . and the readers!  Thanks for your time and your reviews--I love to read them!


	3. Nightmare

                ::sigh:: i don't think i'll get twenty reviews . . . oh well.

                DISCLAIMER:      These characters are not mine.  (Well, the essence of them isn't and the _idea_.  The personalities kind of are because Tolkien never wrote about them.  Still, I don't claim them.)

NIGHTMARE

                Frodo felt as though he had been struck dumb—just as his Uncle Frodo had been so many years ago by the dreaded Black Riders.  But his Uncle Frodo had been paralyzed with magic, while he himself was paralyzed with nought but fear.  Never before had he seen one, but orc it had to be, for his Da had told him many a terrifying tales of he and his Master Frodo fighting or escaping the grasp of these fell creatures.

                But why were these dark abominations here in the Shire!  They couldn't be, they mustn't be!

                The orc towered over him and laughed a thunderous laugh.  Frodo watched him in terrifying fascination, his legs and arms seeming incapable of movement.  But as the creature bent and reached for the small, horror-numbed hobbit, suddenly his limbs sprang to life and up he scrambled to wobbly feet.  He made it a step before his scalp seemed to be aflame and the ground disappeared from his feet.

                The orc held Frodo on high; bringing him so he could see the hobbit eye to eye.  He chuckled, and then scowled as another voice came from behind the dangling hobbit, garbled just as had the others.  But Frodo dangled there in such pain that he never noticed the other orc.  Indeed, all that flashed before him was pain.  He kicked and fought for freedom but all he got for that was a good shake from the orc and more pain to his scalp.

                Suddenly he was tossed to the ground and, before he could get his bearings straight, a great weight crushed him to the ground.

                "Stay, bug," gargled the orc, driving his foot down hard upon Frodo's chest.  He was being crushed and could not have escaped in any way whatsoever.  

                As his breath slowly left his lungs blackness crept toward his consciousness, and his struggles weakened.  Frodo faintly heard the garbled argument of two, then five, then a dozen orcs.  He could make nothing out of their strange language, nor did he want to, for it seemed to him that they fought over his fate.  A couple of orcs kicked him in irritation or frustration and he flew from beneath the first orcs grip, gasping upon the ground for much-needed air.

                Finally, seemingly, a decision was made, for one spoke:

                "Wretched hobbitses live todays," he said in obvious disgust, his words barely registering in Frodo's pain and horror-filled mind.  The hobbit didn't move, just prayed they'd forget about him and leave him be.  "Other hobbitses get suspicious if we kill bug.  But if little bug tell, we kill," he hissed.  

                When Frodo moved not and responded not at all, the orc roared in rage and, grabbing him by the hair, ripped him once again from the ground.  This time Frodo cried out and refused to cease his struggles even when the orc shook him and more pain shot through his head.

                "We kill little bug if he tells," the orc snarled, "We kill!"  He shook him hard.

                "Alright!" Frodo finally cried, tears streaming down his face, his small hands clutching and scratching at the orc's huge ones.  "I won't tell!  I won't tell!"

                The orc tossed him aside, and his kind laughed and spat at him.  Frodo lept to his feet and dashed off, not caring which direction he went, only wanting to escape the horrible nightmare which he was now apart.  He ran clumsily through the wood, stumbling and occasionally falling over roots and rocks.

                Frodo heard mocking laughter as he disappeared into the night . . . .

                It wasn't until after Merry slept that Frodo was finally hit with the total realization of the day's events.  The fact that _orcs_ wandered his Shire chilled the hobbit to the bone.  He had run into these monsters, literally, and he had come out alive!  But he had also ran, never looking back but fleeing with all he was worth back to his small hobbit hole in the safe village of Hobbiton.  His actions angered him to a forgetfulness of his own fear and danger.  He almost even forgot the words of the orc, until his lids drooped and the dreams came.

                He was plagued with terror after terror that night.  Nightmares filled with the twisted visage of orcs and he'd wake in a cold sweat, the word's of the monster echoing his head:  _"We kill little bug if he tells!  We kill!"  _

                Frodo bit his lip to keep from crying out and told himself disapprovingly that his Uncle Frodo would have never carried on so.  He tasted the sharp tang of blood in his mouth and realized shamefully his teeth had bitten into the soft flesh of his lips.

                To tell his Da or Ma about the fell creatures hung in his mind constantly throughout the night, even as he fought vainly to disperse the nightmares.  He had to tell someone, hadn't he?  He could not let those vile _things _walk freely in a land that was peaceful and serene.  He knew he couldn't.  But they had threatened death and if he told he knew his life was forfeit.

                _It doesn't matter! _he argued with himself.  _If I let them walk freely in the home of my ancestors then many more than one silly hobbit could be killed.  And if I told, how could they possibly find out, besides?_

_                Orcs have their ways; wretched, wretched ways that they are! _he countered.  _But how do you know the creatures are not just passing through?  Perhaps they mean no harm to the Shire and only wish to escape the iron hammer of Sauron's defeat._

_                'Passing through'?  How could they enter the Shire in the first place, let alone walk freely within to pass through?  Surely the Rangers wouldn't let such foul folk within our borders?  How is it possible?_

_                It must be a small force to have escaped their detection, _a part of him thought logically._  What can such a small force do to a land filled with hobbits?  I say, they are merely passing through.  Let it rest, Frodo my lad, they will do no harm to your kindred._

And so, through out the darkest hours of night, Frodo fought with himself.  Reassurance clashed with fear and fear clashed with honor.  It went on like so until Frodo passed out in exhaustion and not even his dreams disturbed him.

When morning came, it brought such brightness that Frodo wondered if what he had seen last night had been nothing but a terrible dream.  His heart soon sank however, when chilling Truth slammed him from behind.

                He crawled out of bed, stiff and sore, but in the mind of denial.  He stripped soiled clothes from his body and looked down upon himself--

                And sucked in a sharp and painful breath.  His whole body held nought but bruises.  Black, yellow, blue, green and purple--the colors lay across his body like that of a fell rainbow.

                Frodo looked sharply at the bunks surrounding him, but to his relief found they were all empty and, hurriedly adorning fresh garments, covered up the horrible reminders of a not-so-distant nightmare.

                It's kind of hard not to picture _this _Frodo as our _true _Frodo.  They have a similar personality, but I think Frodo Gamgee has more anger in him . . . and I fear that is his downfall.


	4. Fare Thee Well

                DISCLAIMER:      Tolkien's realm, not mine.

                *note:     This is gonna have to satisfy you guys for awhile cause I don't have alot of free time on my hands and the next chapter is only partially done.  But it's all in my head!  I know what's gonna happen and I could tell you but of course you know I wont.  I hope this ending leaves you anxious for more.  It's kind of funny--this story started so light and . . . well, hobbitish and its not going to end like that, not by a long shot.  I am _not _saying the ending is going to be sad--I'm not saying anything!  Well, I'll say one thing--night has to come before the dawn.  And with that happy note, on with the telling!

FARE THEE WELL

                As the days slowly faded away, so too, did Frodo's bruises.  The young hobbit was careful that none of his brothers or sisters saw his wounds, not for the fact of telling them about their source (which they would surely pester him to death over) but of keeping them ignorant just to the fact that he _was _hurt.  He feared that they would be concerned for him and he did not want that.  Everyone had other matters on their mind anyhow, especially with The Departure drawing nigh.

                Frodo's own worries, too, fled him as he watched his Ma and Da pack for their yearlong 'vacation' in Gondor, his heart ever aching and burning.  But he said naught to anyone, not about his desire to leave and most definitely not about the orcs.  His second had won out, for--he had convinced himself--the orcs were just passing through and they would cause no harm.  Yet, even with this conviction, worry still gnawed at his gut and, though he tried not to, his Da picked it out.

                "Have you noticed, my love," Sam said several nights before their departure, "that Frodo seems a bit pale of late?"

                Rose sat across from her husband near the fire, her small, delicate hands stitching a pair of Pippin's ripped trousers.  "Yes," she said finally, softly.  The fire's light reflected red off her auburn curls.

                "Something's bothering him," Sam commented lightly, taking a puff from his pipe.

                Rose looked up sharply and scowled.  "Sam Gamgee, I know what you're implying and I'll have none of it."  Sam opened his mouth as if to protest but Rose shook her head and said, "No," quite firmly, causing him to snap his mouth back shut upon his pipe and look over at her dejectedly.

                Rose smiled softly had her husband's crude attempt to pout and she set her stitching aside.  "Love, please," she said.  "Frodo cannot come with us.  Not this time."  She rose from her seat and kissed Sam upon the nose and left him to sit beside the fire and contemplate as he wished. 

                 "Goodbye, my love," Sam said, kissing his daughter upon the brow.  "Don't grow while I'm gone, you here me?"

                Young Primrose had tears in her eyes as she hugged her father, then, reluctantly released him.  She nodded her head at his request, and then dashed over to stand at Young Rose's side.  Sam watched her flee and shook his head sadly.  He turned next to Bilbo and ruffled his hair.

                "You take care of Ruby for me?" he asked.

                "Course, Da," the youth sniffed, accepting Sam's embrace and then looking up at his father very forlorn-like.

                Sam forced a chuckle.  "There's a good lad.  Help your older brothers."  He looked over at Rose and watched as she smothered Robin in kisses (to the toddler's great delight), tears in her eyes.  He bent and picked Ruby up.

                "Da bye-bye?" his son asked.

                Sam held him tight.  "Aye, Ruby.  Da go bye-bye for a little while.  I'll be home real soon though."  He smiled and touched Ruby upon the nose.  "You mind your elders . . . and wash those dirty feet!"  Sam tickled Ruby's toes and Ruby squealed in laughter.  He handed the toddler to young Bilbo and turned to a dejected looking Merry.

                "Ah, why the long face?"

                "I don't want you to leave, Da," Merry said honestly.  "Things won't be the same."

                "Aye, but that's the joy of it, Merry my lad."

                The hobbit youth crinkled his nose and Sam laughed aloud.  "Who's in charge, Merry?" Sam asked after a moment.

                Merry glanced over at Frodo, who held Tom in his arms.  "Frodo, Da," he answered.

                "Aye, and who spoils the living daylight out of you chilluns?"

                Merry broke into a smile.  "Why Frodo o' course, Da," he said happily.

                Sam nodded, a smile of his own spreading across his face.  "Aye."  He kissed and hugged his son.

                "I'll still miss you, Da," Merry said and Sam kissed him on the brow, glad to see the youth's eyes now lit up with mischief.

                "Give your Ma a kiss now," Sam ruffled Merry's hair and the youth ran to Rose.  Sam glanced over at Frodo and smiled sadly.

                "You'll be quite a big lad when you come home."  Frodo held little Tolman in his arms and was talking softly to the gurgling babe.  "Probably saying words already.  Ma and Da, and the like."  He looked down into the deep blue of his brother's eyes.  "You won't forget me, will you, Tom?"

                Sam walked over to Frodo and the young hobbit glanced up.  "Ah, Frodo my lad, you delve on the same as I.  I'm leaving you all behind.  I fear for what I might miss."

                Frodo looked around at all his brothers and sisters, then back at Sam.  "We're all grown up though, Da," his gaze fell to Tom.  "We won't forget you.  But . . . Tom is so young and a year is such a long time . . ."  Tolman sucked on Frodo's finger and the hobbit smiled down at the babe, a great sadness in his eyes, "I fear he won't remember me," he finished in a whisper.

                Sam patted his son on the back.  "A year is a year, my lad, and we'll be back before you know it.  Little Tom won't be changed much and everything will fall back in line."

                Frodo nodded but Sam noted the adolescent seemed unconvinced.  Or, perhaps convinced, but as though something just a bit different really bothered him.

                "Goodbye, my love," Rose came over and kissed Frodo upon the cheek.  He handed her the babe and whispered his own farewells.

                "Bye, Ma, I'll miss you."

                He kissed her and she smiled.  Tears sparkled upon her cheeks.  She made her last round of farewells then fled to the pony-drawn wagon, Sam watching her go with a similar ache in his breast.

                He turned back to Frodo, looked his boy up and down critically.  Seeing this, Frodo gave his Da a half smile and crossed his arms over his chest.  "Well, I don't know," said Sam, pursing his lips, "Taking on the responsibility of a whole household is a heavy load," he sighed dramatically, "But I guess you'll have to do.  You're a bit on the skinny side and a bit too tall for my taste--"

                "Da!" Frodo cried indignantly, "I am not!"

                Sam let a smile break his stony exterior, knowing Frodo's touchiness to his appearance.  "Yes," he laughed, "I suppose you'll do."  He gave Frodo a great hug and as they pulled away, Sam saw a brief pain cross his son's face.  Sam looked Frodo over with a bit more concern.  "Are you well, my lad," he asked; something he had wished to ask for quite some time, in both a physical and emotional sense.

                Frodo laughed but Sam suspected it was a bit forced.  "Aye, Da.  Course."

                Sam had not the time to argue, for already Rose was calling to him.  He gave his boy a reluctant nod and squeezed Frodo's shoulder.  "Take care, lad."

                "Aye.  You, too, Da," the hobbit adolescent whispered, though a quiet urgency came out as well.

                Sam turned and made his way to the wagon, Elanor following suit.  She turned at the last and waved to her brother, sadness in her eyes that almost touched Frodo into forgiving her for being the one chosen to leave instead of him.  He returned her wave as she clamored atop the wagon next to her Ma.

                As they all became settled, Sam clicked his tongue and flicked the reins, and the ponies trotted forward, though away from the empty Bag End behind the Gamgee children.  The wagon dwindled at a torturing slow rate that Frodo felt he could not stand.  He bent and scooped up Ruby, who was toddling past to chase after their departing parents.  He didn't protest, though his eyes never left that of either his Ma or Da.  Frodo doubted Ruby understood much of what was going on but he new the hobbit tot felt the sadness in the air.  As if to confirm this, a small whimper escaped Ruby and he snuggled close within the embrace of his older brother.

                Rose stood near, Robin within her own grasp and Primrose clinging to her skirt.  Merry and Pippin raced after the wagon for a time but eventually stopped and watched as the distance between them and their parents expanded.  Little Bilbo sobbed quietly until Goldilocks bent beside him and spoke soft comforting words, though her own face was streaked with tears.  Daisy and Hamfast sat upon the grass, either face holding a blank expression of one who doesn't totally understand or believe that which is transpiring.

                As the sun slowly sank in the distance, and twilight's shadows descended, Frodo waved a last farewell, then turned and entered Bag End.

*     *     *     *     *

                "Frodo," Rose called tentatively.

                She received no reply.

                Rose sighed and walked fully into the living area, a dishtowel in her grasp.  She walked around her Da's red chair and, as she suspected, Frodo sat sullenly in its deep depths, his father's pipe clamped firmly between his teeth.

                "Frodo, it's time to sup," she said.

                The hobbit stared off into the fire; its licking red flames reflecting brilliantly from within his dark eyes.  He neither glanced up nor even registered that he had heard her.

                Rose scowled.  "Frodo Gardner Gamgee!" she huffed but again she received not a twitch from her brother.  "Fine, don't eat!  Starve for all I care!"  She turned and flounced from the room.

                Frodo stirred slightly as she disappeared from view.  He glanced up and took the pipe from his mouth.  He shook his head and sighed, resting back in the dark fabric of his Da's chair. 

                He didn't like how the last couple of weeks were turning out.  His sister was falling more and more into the role of that which belonged to his Ma and he was falling into the role that belonged to none but his Da.  Where once the lil'uns had run to their mother when a scraped knee bled or a toy had broke, they now scurried to their sister's skirt.  Where once Merry and Pippin had urged their Da to go fishing with them, now they dragged Frodo.  It wasn't that he didn't enjoy it sometimes, for he enjoyed it quite more than he would readily admit.  It was just that it all seemed out of place.  He was not his Da and Rose was not their Ma.

                And there was something else.  No matter what he did, Frodo could never banish the leering grins and cruel eyes that would descend upon him once night fell.  He still remembered the orc's iron grip as he was held, squirming in the air.  Their mocking laughter and garbled tongue assailed him until he wanted to scream.  He would lay in bed at night, trying vainly to fight off the haunting visions that would not be banished.

                In the day he had to refuse their existence in order to not break down in front of Rose and Merry.  And yet, as the days progressed, he had the disquieting feeling that they suspected something was not right.  More often his moods were shadowed in anger and fear and he had to fight his way out.  He soon learned, however, that so long as he was not alone, he could fight that darkness.

                Frodo stirred from the chair and slowly raised himself up.  He set his Da's pipe on the small stool to the left of the chair and went to the kitchen.  As he saw none were there he proceeded onto the dining room.

                There he found all ten of his brothers and sisters--laughing, chatting, and eating--around the table. At his arrival, Rose and Merry glanced up.  Merry looked over at his sister in surprise but Rose's eyes fell and stayed on her older brother.  Frodo smiled at her reassuringly, patted her on her shoulder, and proceeded down to the head of the table.  He seated himself, looked over the food in great pleasure, then glanced up at Rose.  Hesitantly, she smiled and, at his nod, proceeded to eat her meal and chat with Goldilocks.  Merry smiled at Frodo while gnawing on a chicken bone, his elder brother rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

                Looking over the food one last time before it became completely devoured by his siblings, he spied a mouth-watering fish, seasoned and buttered to perfection.  With great enthusiasm, Frodo dug in.

*     *     *     *    *

                _Snip, snip.  Snip, snip._

Frodo stepped back and studied the shrub.  Without delay or hesitation, he swung the shears about and attacked the bush's other side.  The sun was high and, though autumn was well on its way, Frodo felt beads of sweat roll down his brow.  He shook his head of curls without missing a single _snip_, shaping and creating as his hands allowed.  Frodo loved his Da's trade (at least the trade he had held when Master Frodo had been Master of Bag End) and he relished the fact that his father had taught it to him.

                He remembered when he had been no older than Ruby and Sam had let him hold the shears, his larger hands guiding his son's smaller ones.  His Da had taught and guided him until Frodo was old enough to take care of the beautiful gardens surrounding Bag End himself.

                _Snip, snip.  Snip, snip._

The rhythm was perfect.

                "Frodo!  Frodo!"

                Frodo slipped and the shears took a chunk from the bush.  But so was the tone in his callen name that he didn't curse his luck but turned his head in fear instead.

                Arialac Brandybuck raced down the road from Bagshot Row, his legs pumping hard until he came around the bend and ran up the Gamgee lawn.  The _tween_'s face was as pale as death, contrasting sharply with his dark curls.  His black eyes were wide in fear.

                "Frodo! Frodo, is Master Samwise here?  I must speak to Master Samwise!"  Arialac came up to Frodo and bent double as he tried to catch his breath.

                "Da?  Why, Da left three weeks ago for Gondor, Arialac, everyone knows that."

                "He . . . left?" the _tween_ gasped.  "Oh, _aye_!" he cursed, running his finger's angrily though his curls.  "When word came . . . I forgot."  He shook his head in frustration, then, seemingly for the first time, he noticed Frodo.  Arialac straightened up.  "You'll have to come then," and he grasped the startled Gamgee by the hand.  "Hurry!"  

                Frodo's shears fell forgotten, onto the soft grass of Bag End.

                "Arialac . . . what's . . . going on?" Frodo gasped, trying to keep pace with the Brandybuck.  The two hobbits raced down Bagshot Row, passed the Old Gaffer's home, toward Hobbiton Square.

                Arialac's gasped for breath but refused to slow his pace.  "Your brother . . . Merry . . ." he wheezed.

                "Merry!" Frodo gasped, his brow creasing in worry.  "What's happened?  He and Pippin--"

                Arialac nodded.

                "Wh-what's happened?"

                "You'll . . . see," Arialac gasped.

                Cold dread was beginning to clench at his heart.  "Aria--"

                The _tween _shook his head and pointed ahead.  Frodo looked down into the very heart of Hobbiton and, to his surprise found it filled with hobbits.  The only time the Square was occupied with hobbits was for celebrations or elections, and once in a great while, Town Meetings.  There were no celebrations today nor elections (Tolman Cotton had been elected Mayor after Samwise's departure), and Frodo was quite certain a Town Meeting hadn't been called.  Yet there they all were, hobbits milling about from all over Hobbiton.  And in the mass, Frodo thought he glimpsed a fair-haired youth that could be none but Merry.

                Frodo sped up.  "Merry, Merry!"

                Heads turned toward the shout and, seeing Frodo racing down the lane, many a whispers started.

                "It's Frodo Gamgee," one dark-haired gentlehobbit murmured to his wife.

                "Where's Master Samwise!" several shouted in alarm.

                "Near to Gondor most like," was the reply from those who recalled Sam's departure.

                "Oh, aye!" several hobbits cried in remembrance, slapping their foreheads.

                Frodo shoved his way through the crowd until he came upon a pale-faced Merry and a weeping Pippin.  Merry looked up, but there was no recognition in his blue eyes.

                "Merry," Frodo grasped the youth by the shoulders.  "What happened?"

                Merry's face tilted ever so slightly to the side and his eyes searched Frodo's face, as if he sought the answer to his brother's question.

                When no reply came, Frodo shook Merry.  "What's wrong?  What is it?" he demanded, feeling his insides twist into a painful knot.  "Answer me, Merry!"

                "Stop!"  Pippin screamed.  

                His small hands flew to his ears and he clutched at them as if some unseen voice haunted him.

                Those that had been curiously watching this display cried out in alarm and took a step backwards, allowing Arialac to squeeze through and stand beside Frodo, who stared at Pippin in horror, his brown eyes wide.

                "Leave me alone!" Pippin cried, tears falling down his smooth cheeks.

                  Frodo reached out and grabbed the youth, pulled him close.  "Pippin.  Pippin, it's me Frodo.  Just Frodo," he soothed, holding tight to the now struggling hobbit.  Pippin lashed out savagely with both arms and feet, but Frodo held him tight.  "Shhh, shhh, Pippin.  Pippin, it's me Frodo.  What's wrong?  Tell me what's wrong.  It's me, just Frodo."

                Slowly, Pippin's struggles ceased.  He went limp in Frodo's grip and hiccupping sobs assailed him.  A whimpered "Frodo" escaped the youth.

                "Yes," his brother nodded, kneeling to the ground to hold him better.  "Yes, Pippin, yes.  It's Frodo.  I'm here, I'm here."  Rocking him, he glanced up at Merry who looked about him, but his eyes held no recognition.

                "What's wrong with them?" Frodo whispered.

                Arialac knelt beside the hobbit boy.  "Sancho Proudfoot found them," he said quietly.  "I guess they had been fishing . . . ." he looked to Frodo then continued, "Pippin was on the ground--"

                "By the Shire!" Frodo hissed.  Arialac looked over and saw the adolescent pull his hand from beneath Pippin.  

                It ran red with blood.

                Like I said it all up here ::taps head:: its the getting it onto the paper I have trouble with.  I _really_ want it all down on paper though--as much for your benefit as for mine.  So if you guys could bug me or something every now and again it would be truly appreciated.  Thanks just for reading!  Give me a review (or two^^) please!  I think I'm having withdrawals!


	5. Born of Darkness

                Disclaimer:  I claim no ownership toward Middle-earth, nor it's characters.  Tolkien was a great man, not to be compared with.

                Well, well, looky here—I finally got the next chapter posted.  Now, take slow and measured bites for I'm not certain when the next ones coming.  Though I swear on the curly head of every hobbit—yes, that includes our adorable Ring-bearer—that it will _not_ take two months!  Thanx for your patients.^^

BORN OF DARKNESS

                "Come on, Pip, hurry up," Merry called, shouldering the knapsack of "borrowed" foodstuff from the pantry.  He was certain Rose wouldn't mind.  Merry heard a muffled mumble from the next room over and, assured Pippin was on his way, he grabbed his fishing stick and made his way outside, blinking his blue eyes rapidly in the morning sun.

                Merry spied Frodo over by the garden tilling up the soil and ridding the beds of weeds and made as if to go to his brother but then thought better of it--Frodo had found little time to relax lately, to ease his mind of worries he would not share, and merry did not want to be the one to deprive Frodo from such.  His older brother had always loved the gardens, for they had always given him peace of mind.  Besides, Pippin had just stepped from Bag End, his own pole held expertly in small childish hands.

                Merry smiled at his younger sibling.  "Race you to The Water," he said and, before Pippin could say aught, ran down the long dirt road of Bagshot Row, blonde curls bouncing and glinting in the sun.  With a yelp of indignant protest, the younger hobbit raced after his brother, stumbling several paces before picking up speed.

                It didn't take the two very long to reach The Water, a good half hour at the most, but both expired long before they even reached the lightly wooded area surrounding the river.  Of course, Pippin won the race, and though the younger suspected his brother had let him he still reveled at Merry's grumblings, however good-natured they were.  Frodo was not the only one who took after his namesake; Merry often had a grin on his round hobbitish face as Meriadoc, too, was well know for.  Idly, Merry wondered when his "Uncle" Merry would visit again; it seemed a terrible long time since last Samwise and his family had seen their easy-going (and very good story-teller, the Gamgee children would have it known) uncle.

                The Water was calm, as can be expected in the Shire, what with so few hobbits seen on its almost mirror-like surface--that is, save for the very disturbed and/or young.  Even those foolish enough to wander too near would only do so in the very shallowest of regions.  Merry and Pippin did as such and smiled mischievously at the thought of what there mother would say had she had any notion of her sons' intents.  They had no fear of the Water's depths, though, not for the simple fact that they were young and, being as such, had youth's trait of having the false sense of invincibility, but also for the fact that several years before--unbeknownst to either Sam nor Rose--Peregrin had taken Frodo, Merry, Pippin, and Faramir, his own son, out upon The Water in a sturdy, if old, fishing boat.  The boys had had a marvelous time of it and were even more delighted when "Uncle" Pippin made them swear on the Shire that they would never tell a soul, especially not their mothers.  They had all agreed readily, as only young boys in the act of mischief can.

                This morning, not only was no one out on The Water but also there was not a single hobbit about at all.  This was nothing out of the ordinary and Merry dismissed it as he found a small dock with an abandoned boat buoyed merrily upon the water's surface.

                "What did you bring?" Pippin asked curiously, eyeing the sack tossed carelessly over his brother's shoulder.

                Merry rolled his eyes heavenward's and played with the idea of ignoring Pippin.  The two had only gone fishing since they were little more than knee-high and had Merry not brought a knapsack with him every time?  Had not Pippin asked the same question over and over every time they went fishing?  It was almost like a tradition, the way his little brother constantly pondered at the notion of bringing a sack full of food.  In the end, and like always, Merry answered:

                "Food."  He set the knapsack gently in the boat's belly.

                "For us or the fish?" Pippin wondered aloud, trying to keep the interest from his voice.  Merry glanced at him sideways and the hobbit child suspected he failed.  His brother rested his fishing rod beside the bag then held out his hand for Pippin's stick.

                "Both," he replied, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice.  He put his brother's stick next to his own.  Pippin seemed to think on this for a moment, weighing the possibilities of two very important issues.  "Get in," Merry ordered, turning to the wooden post to untie the boat.  Pippin scrambled in.

                "I'm hungry," he declared finally, sitting himself at his customary spot at the front of the boat.

                Merry shook his head.  "You just had breakfast not an hour ago."

                Pippin was going to remind his older brother that young hobbits, such as himself, needed a hearty meal every half hour or so, otherwise they might turn out looking like Frodo.  (Although, Pippin had to admit, that Frodo ate more food than even their Da did and still he was as slender as anything.  Something about his metabolism, his Da said.  Whatever that was.)  He was going to point out, also, that Merry had no room to talk, seeing how he had been caught munching on a pastry not too long after breakfast just that very morning.  He would have probably argued several other points in favor of getting a tasty snack, and had every intention of doing so, but he never got the chance.

                As he opened his mouth to voice the clever arguments his brother was going to hear whether he liked it or no, Pippin's slightly pointed ears caught a sound that he did not recognize--in fact, he'd never in his life heard it before.  The _twang _was soft, barely audible, and came from the woods somewhere off to the hobbit youth's right.

                "Merry, did you--" he began, searching the woods with sharp hobbit-sight.  

                Merry never heard his brother, though, never even knew he had spoken, for a grunt of pain escaped his lips and he found himself pinned against the wooden pole.  The breath knocked from his body--more from surprise than pain (pain can only be felt when the mind is willing, and Merry's mind--aside from the common bruise or scratch--had never known such) and Merry's eyes fell--almost dreamily--to a large shaft that had sprouted from his shoulder.  It was long, this wooden shaft, and terribly thick, with feathers as black as death.  

                His Uncle Merry had told him enough stories that he knew an arrow when he saw one, even if it was the very first time his innocent blue eyes had ever fallen upon a weapon of war and death.  But even if his subconscious registered such a trivial fact (or not so trivial, perhaps) it made no difference for the here and now.  Merry could do naught but stare.

                Hideous screams erupted from the woods, sounds only heard in the darkest of nightmares, and masses of evil swarmed out, wickedly curved blades glinting dully in the morning sun.  The leering orcs laughed harshly as the Pippin screamed, for never had he seen such terrors and he was frozen, unable to move had he wanted to, just as he surely did.

                Two came for him, long spindly arms reaching to grab and lift him high--his terrified cries only causing them to make crude remarks in their own foul tongue.  Another came for Merry, who watched the approaching monster with a shadow in his eyes.  He did nothing--moved not, spoke not--as the creature stepped forward and placed a gnarled hand on the arrow's shaft.  It called out something to its fellows and they laughed harshly in return, even as one picked up the children's knapsack and the other backhanded the hobbit youth.  Pippin ceased his screams, only whimpered instead.  The orc near Merry grinned wickedly, gripped the shaft tightly and jerked, hard.

                Flesh tore and Merry screamed.  With the arrow no longer holding him erect, he crumbled to the ground where he lay, unmoving.  The orc gurgled in satisfaction, sniffed, laughed, and kicked the felled hobbit, then turned to join his comrades, leaving the poor discarded creature much the same way a hobbit child might leave an old worn-out toy.

                "Merry!" Pippin cried, but it came out no more than a meek whimper.  For all is effort, all he received was another thwack from the orc that held him.  Immediately, he quieted.

                The orc with the knapsack rummaged through its contents, seeming pleased with what it found.  The other, the one with the crossbow strapped to its back, barked a guttural command, gesturing at the bag.  His fellow grumbled but otherwise did not respond and only continued to peer around in the sack.  It did not take long for the two to engage in a physical argument--gnarled hands grappling for the foodstuff while sharp teeth sought the ripe flesh of the other's throat.  The orc holding the hobbit youth thoroughly ignored his comrades, however, finding the small creature in his hands much more interesting than a smelly bag of food.  Apples didn't scream.

                Grinning wickedly, the orc produced a glinting dagger and, with on swift fluid motion, jammed its point into the child's gut, and twisted.  The screams that followed--well, to any orc, they were a beautiful thing.

                Within five minutes, the three orcs were dead, though neither Pippin nor Merry would ever know such.  They lay upon the ground, their precious life's blood draining slowly away.

                The Uruk-hai stared at the three orcs--one beheaded, the other two slashed to nothing--in disgust, snarled a curse in his kind's tongue, then spat at what remained of their corpses.  He had warned them, warned them all, that if so much as a drop of blood left any hobbit anywhere in the Shire someone would pay.  Risks could not be taken, not yet.

                The Uruk-hai knelt beside one hobbit, whose face was so pale to almost seem transparent, and breathed words in neither his language nor that of the hobbit's.  Wounds mended, breath came evenly once again, and the color returned to the youth's cheeks.  With grim satisfaction, it turned to the other and repeated the process.  The chance to live was given back to the two hobbits and, had the Uruk-hai worshipped any god or man, it would have prayed that foolish errors would not be their ruin.  He only needed a little longer.  But he did not pray, nor did he hope, for to do so was not bred into his kind.  He only turned and, with a shouted command, walked into the woods, his fellow Uruk-hai and orken comrades following.

                When Merry woke from the world of waking nightmares it was night and he found himself terribly alone.  He hurt, but it was only the dull ache of pain long healed--physical pain long healed, the mental pain was only too real.  It was then that the tears came, in the dark hours of the night, and he cried until the soft voice of his sister came.

                All that filled the room was the quite sound of sobbing.  It was dark and naught could be seen but the soft silhouette of a crouching hobbit--seen only by the dismal glow of a nearby candle.  She knelt beside a bed; a moaning form resting upon its white sheets.

                It was a hobbit child, dark curls plastered with salty sweat to his pale face.  Suddenly, Pippin cried out in terror, began thrashing wildly.  Rose looked up in alarm, her face haggard and streaked with tears.  She reached out to him, grasping his flailing arms, trying desperately to still him.

                "Oh, Pippin, my Pippin," she soothed, pulling the youth to her chest and cradling him with a mother's touch.  But he would not be stilled and he moaned and thrashed all the harder.  She fought the tears even as she struggled to keep Pippin within her grasp.__

                "Rose?" came a sleepy voice.

                Rose looked up to see Goldilocks at the bedroom door, rubbing sleep from her eyes.  "Rosie," she spoke softly, "what's wrong with him?"

                Tears flowed freely down her face as she rocked the thrashing youth.  "I don't know, love," she cried.  Her hold slipped and Pippin struck fiercely away, falling to the floor with a painful thud.  He lay there, writhing in pain, crying in terror, the sheets wrapped around him.

                Rose buried her face in her hands.

                She felt a rustle of skirts and the warm embrace of a fellow hobbit.  She glanced up to see Goldilocks holding her and she returned the embrace.

                "Oh, Goldy, I cannot do this!" Rose wailed, once again burying her face in her hands.  Goldilocks held her older sister close.  "How I wish Ma and Da were here!  How I wish Frodo were here!"  It had been nearly a week since her brother's departure; nearly an eternity.

                Goldilocks nodded in agreement, her golden curls bobbing in the candlelight.  "I know, I know," she soothed.  "But Frodo shan't be long; not long at all."

                "But what can Peregrin do?" she demanded angrily, almost savagely.  "Frodo should have went after Da, not silly ol' Peregrin!" Rose sobbed into Goldilocks' skirt.

                "Shh, Rose, do not speak of such.  The Thain is wise and has been in the _Outside.  He will surely know what to do.  Da is too far," she shook her head, "Too far."_

                The two sat together for many moments, the dark hanging around them like a dismal cloud, one comforting while the other tried desperately to shoulder a burden much to heavy for one of such tender years.  Time seemed to dance long before either said or did aught.

                "Forgive me, love," Rose said finally, sniffling.  She dabbed her eyes upon the hem of her skirt, then, slowly, got to her feet.  She walked over to the writhing Pippin and gathered him in her arms.  He fought at first, his tiny fists lashing out, but Rose held him close.  She seated herself at the edge of the bed and sang him a song her father had once sang.

                                                                _I sit beside the fire and think_

_                                                                      of all that I have seen,_

_                                                                of meadow-flowers and butterflies_

_                                                                      in summer that have been;_

_                                                                Of yellow leaves and gossamer_

_                                                                      in autumns that there were,_

_                                                                with morning mist and silver sun_

_                                                                      and wind upon my hair._

_                                                                I sit beside the fire and think_

_                                                                      of how the world would be_

_                                                                when winter comes without a spring_

_                                                                      that I shall ever see._

_                Pippin's struggles slowly ceased as Rose's clear sweet voice carried through the dark terrors that haunted his mind and soul.  She remembered her father singing this once, when he had thought none could hear.  His voice had been filled with a longing that she had not understood and so it had faded from thought.  But the memory returned as she sang to Pippin and a longing of her own weighed heavy on her heart and she found that she understood her father's desperation, if only a little.___

_                                                                For still there are so many things_

_                                                                      that I have never seen:_

_                                                                in every wood in every spring_

_                                                                      there is a different green._

                                                                _I sit beside the fire and think_

_                                                                      of people long ago,_

_                                                                and people who will see a world_

_                                                                      that I will never know._

_                Her voice was no louder than a whisper, though the music and meaning were all too clear.  She held her brother closely, silently promising not to leave him; that she would always be there.  Pippin slept almost peacefully, save for the occasional twitch and moan._

                                                                _But all the while I sit and think_

_                                                                      of times there were before,_

_                                                                I listen for returning feet_

_                                                                      and voices at the door._

_                Rose felt tears brim in her eyes; felt them slide down her face.  She didn't stop them, though, for she didn't care.  "I listen for returning feet and voices at the door," she said again, her brown eyes resting upon the round door of her parent's room as if wishing--willing--to hear the measured tread of her brother's feet.  "I need you, Frodo," she whispered, her voice holding a note of desperation.  "I am frightened."  Her voice was so soft that Goldilocks didn't hear, though there was no need, for both felt the same._

                Rose rested Pippin against the cool sheets, the hobbit child looking very small and fragile in her arms.  She covered him with warm blankets, then kissed his damp brow.  "Peace, my love," she said softly.  "Keep it always."_  Goldilocks watched her sister for a moment, tears--hidden for the dark--sliding silently down her smooth cheeks._

                "Come," Rose said, turning to her younger sister and offering her a hand.  "It's late." 

                Goldilocks accepted the offered hand and the two left the room arm in arm.

                The darkness was great--deep and foreboding.  Occasional round hobbit-windows pierced the blackness of night, flickering candlelight keeping the evils at bay, like an Elven queen in the midst of a horde of goblins.  They twinkled gayly, unaware that anything was amiss, content only that they helped light a sea of darkness.  Now and then a shadow would blot out these small, but by no means insignificant, lights.  Creating small silhouettes of a folk quite merry.

                The shadows watched these folk from afar and leering grins split the darkness.  One shadow broke away from many and, in the darkest and most deadly hour of the night, it spoke:

                "Bug," the darkness hissed in a voice filled with malice.  "It lied to us, it did.  It cheatses us, it did.  It says it won'ts tells but it tells . . . yesss, it did."

                Momentarily, the moon peeped from behind dark clouds and a wickedly curved sword flashed brightly in its rays but, this effort to offer warning, it went unnoticed by the sleeping hobbits.

::smiles sheepishly:: reviews are welcome . . . and thrown apples and tomatoes if you like—ah, and mushrooms . . . ::grins:: for Frodo.  ::shakes head fondly::  Hobbits and their love of mushrooms.  

                *note:  sorry for the confusion but I did not like the setup of my chapters previous to this.  Oh and that last small section where 'the darkness hissed in a voice filled with malice,' that is NOT Gollum.  Sorry, just wanted to make that clear.  Thanks for your guys reviews, they're very encouraging!^^


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